


Dance With Me

by mkstales (mktellstales)



Series: Archived Work: 2013-2015 [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Fluff, Johnlock Fluff, Johnlock freeform, M/M, Unilock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 09:44:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2577011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mktellstales/pseuds/mkstales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John takes Mary to a dance, and finds his ex-boyfriend, Sherlock there as well.<br/>*<br/>*<br/>*<br/>*<br/>*<br/>*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance With Me

**Author's Note:**

> First Published:2014-08-05
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> Comments:2 - Kudos: 24  
> Bookmarks:1- Hits: 509  
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John did not want to be there. He had a stack of films that needed watching before he had to return them to the video store; he had a bottle of whiskey his Da bought him as an early graduation present, and a box of coffee chocolates he was waiting to dive into. The very last place that he wanted to be was the University dance.

But Mary had asked him, no; Mary had begged him to go with her, and as John always had a hard time saying no to Mary, he pulled out his best grey suit, bought a bouquet made of red roses and baby's breath to match her purple dress, and fished his oyster card out from his drawer, and brought her to the University’s ballroom.

Mary was a wonderful and sweet girl, and they had been friends their entire lives but she was misguided in her love for John, because she had never come to realise that John didn't love her back; that out of all the possibilities for him to give his heart away to someone, he would never choose to give it to her.

"John, honestly, could you at least pretend to be having a good time?" Mary pressed her thumb into his waist where her hand was gently clasped around the fabric of his suit jacket.

 "I'm sorry. I am having a good time. I swear it."

 She laughed, "No, you're not, but thank you for attempting to pretend anyhow."

John smiled, and pulled her in a little closer. The song playing over the stereo system was quite pretty, and Mary's shampoo, or maybe it was her perfume, was reminding John of the summers he used to spend with his grandparents in Scotland; earthy but sweet, with a hint of freshly snipped tulip blossoms.

Perhaps, John could try a little better at pretending. He kissed the top of her head, and let her nestle it underneath his chin, so that he could feel her breath against the hollow of his throat.

It really wasn’t so bad.

But then, he felt it.

First, against his back; a knowing heat rising up his spine; then, as he turned, the same heat against his face, making his brows sweat, and his heart beat faster inside his chest. He knew the feeling of those eyes, even if he couldn’t see them.

It was Sherlock.

Focused on trying to find the man who went with the burning fire spreading all over his body, he didn’t even notice Mary lift her head, and purse her lips. He didn’t know what she was doing until those lips were on his, pressing with a delicate, hopeful intent.

“Mary!” he yelled, and pushed her away far harder than was necessary, but he had been startled, and he was flustered.

Mary stood where her feet landed, and stared across the space at John; her eyes pale. She didn’t say anything to him, just frowned, and ran passed him, outside.

“Shit.” John cursed to himself.

Rather than run after her, he kept scanning the room until he found him; standing by the long table filled with drinks and food.

 "Stop it." John hissed, sliding up next to Sherlock and trekking his cup with the sickeningly sweet red punch.

"Stop what?" Sherlock asked, sounding for all the world, perfectly innocent.

"Staring at me."

"Oh. Was I?"

"You know damn well that you have been."

Sherlock smirked, and then set his face back to his usual impassive scowl. He reached across John to pop a tart into his mouth.

"My apologies. I'll find somewhere else to look for the rest of the night."

 "Thank you."

John threw his plastic in the bin beside the table, and started to make his way across the dance floor to find Mary again, and to apologize for being a massive dick, when he felt slender fingers slowly wrap around his wrist, and tug him around, so that he was face to face with Sherlock’s perfect pink lips, and his wild, dark curls, and the verdigris of his eyes.

"I'll stop, if you'll dance with me." Sherlock said to him.

"Dance with-Sherlock, I'm not dancing with you."

 "Because you're not gay?"

"I never-"

"You never said it to me, but you said it to plenty of other people."

 "It is the truth."

"It's only half the truth."

John looked at him, took in his features, and seriously considered the offer for a moment before he sighed, and shook his head.

"Sherlock I'm sorry." He said quietly. "But I have to find Mary." He lifted Sherlock's fingers from his wrist, held onto them for a few seconds, and then let Sherlock's hand fall back as his side.

 He walked away without looking back.

He pushed through the doors, and found Mary, quite easily, sitting on the cement ledge that surrounded the small garden of flowers in front of the ballroom, kicking her heels against it. John cautiously moved to stand in front of her.

 "Mary, I'm sorry about earlier."  He said.

She wiped at the bottoms of her eyes before she looked up at him.

It broke John’s heart to see that she had been crying.

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-I know how you feel about us."

He sat down on the ledge next to her, and picked up her hand, "You're my best friend Mary, and I love you, but just as that."

"I know. And I love you too, John; as my best friend.”

“So, I can take you back inside and twirl you all around the dance floor?” he asked with a smile.

“Yea; that would be lovely.”

“Great.”

John jumped down, and held onto Mary’s hand to bring her down to the ground. They walked, arm in arm back into the ballroom to tart dancing again; this time to something a little faster, but the renewed sense of bittersweet joy didn’t last very long, before John felt the same burn again.

God damnit, Sherlock." John muttered underneath his breath.

This time he could see him; leaning against the back wall; staring.

"Sherlock?" Mary asked, "Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yes."

 "What about him?”

 "I-he-" John stumbled over his words, "just, could you give me a minute? I'll be right back, I promise."

John kissed Mary’s cheek, and quite literally ran through the bodies on the dance floor until he came to Sherlock. He grabbed him by the arm, and dragged him through the back doors that opened into an empty parking lot, and roughly threw his lean body against the brick wall.

"I told you to stop it."

"But you like when I watch you."

"Yea, I did, but you broke up with me remember? So, you've lost the right to watch me; to look set me even."

"Do you remember that first night in my rooms?" Sherlock started, as if he didn't hear a word John had just said, "I sat on the edge of my bed and watched you unbutton that olive green dress shirt. You were so nervous-"

 "I wasn't."

Sherlock smiled, "Your hands were trembling. But you kept going, and what did I say when you finally slipped the fabric off your shoulders, and you showed me what you've never shown anyone else?"

John swallowed, and spoke quietly, "You said that it was the most beautiful thing that you had ever seen; that  _I_  was the most beautiful thing that you had ever seen."

"That's right, John. You were; you are. Your scar, your eyes, your smile; your cock- it's all gorgeous."

"Then why?"

"I'm not Mary. I wasn't going to spend a lifetime at your side, being the only one of the two of us to-

Sherlock stopped, and considered his next word, "well, you know."

"Did you think that I didn't love you?"

"No one knew."  He said quietly.

"Because no one knows that side of me, not because I don't love you."

John reached out and smoothed the back of his hand over Sherlock's cheek. It felt incredible to touch him again; to feel the paradox of warmth from a man who looked so cold.

_"John."_

Sherlock whispered his name, so quietly, that it dissipates into the air between them before the sound could reach John's ears, but He has seen Sherlock's lips silently form the shape his name enough times to know what he said; to know what he meant.

_I want you. I need you. I love you._

"Dance with me." John said him to him.

"Out here?"

"No. Inside."

"But-"

"I don't care, Sherlock. I don't." He held out his hand; steady and still.

Sherlock studied John's face for a moment, and John let him for several minutes.

"Okay." He finally said, and reached to take John’s hand.

They walked back through the doors, and passed everyone, as if they didn’t exist, and settled in the center of the floor. John lifted their joined hands, and wrapped his other around Sherlock’s waist. It took Sherlock a moment to do the same to John, but finally, they were joined together, and swaying, moving to the slow tune filling their ears.

They by no means were the only couple of the same sex to be dancing with one another, but John knew that they were the only one to have command of all the eyes in the room; John’s rugby mates, the girls he had taken back to his flat; Mary.

But it didn’t matter. Truly.

Sherlock, in his arms; Sherlock being his, was the only thing that ever mattered.

 


End file.
